An Itch That Needs Scratching
by DeadPigeon
Summary: The Doctor has a new rule. Rule#211: Avoid Picnics!
**An Itch That Needs Scratching**

Clara listened as the Doctor squirmed, the chains and manacles binding his wrists above his head rattling in protest. They'd been chained to adjacent posts and locked in inside a dark dank and fetid cell only a short while, but in all that time he never stopped squirming and rattling. It was beginning to annoy her.

"Do you have to keep doing that?"

It got quiet. "I'm sorry." He replied flippantly. "Is my discomfort bothering you?"

She bristled at his tone. "Wasn't it you who said, "It won't bother me. I'll just put myself into a meditative state."?

He didn't reply; he was too busy squirming. She began laughing at his predicament. "Yes, this may be funny to you." He growled. "But it's your fault!"

Her voice squeaked with indignation. "How is it my fault?"

The Doctor laughed. "Ha! You're the one who said, "Let's go somewhere nice and have a picnic."

Clara rattled her own chains. "Yeah, about that nice part."

"Oh, do shut up!" He snapped back as he tried controlling himself to a restless fidget. It didn't last for long.

x

 **Two hours ago**

Clara was being persistent. "Come on, Doctor! Let's go somewhere nice and have a picnic!"

He rolled is eyes at her request as he poked annoyingly at the button that had been sticking on the console. "There's no consistency with you is there? One day it's an adventure the next it's relaxation."

"One usually follows the other." She offered up.

"Does it?" He pried off the offending button. "Seems to me we've been on one endless adventure."

Clara crossed her arms and leaned against the console. "Well, with your track record."

"Hey!" He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and flicked it open. "Is it my fault trouble seems to finds me? It's not like I go looking for it." He then spit into the material and began rubbing the button clean.

Clara scrunched up her nose at his cleaning technique. "Hmmm." She waited for him to finish. And by finish, she watched as he spit into his handkerchief again and then rubbed at the spot where he'd removed the button. Once he was satisfied with his work, he snapped the button back into place.

"You know, they make quite a few products back on earth for cleaning a keyboard."

He arched a brow and waved his handkerchief at her. "Why would I need anything else? This works just fine, and it fits into my pocket." He stuffed it back into his jacket pocket, thus proving his point.

"So? Picnic? Somewere nice."

He knew it was useless to try and argue against it; not with those infernal eyes of hers looking back at him. "Alright. I'll take you somewhere new. And by "new", I mean the Omega Galaxy. It's the last galaxy ever to be formed in the universe."

"The last?"

"Yes, the last." She watched as he began programming in the coordinates. "Everything has its end Clara. Even the universe."

She frowned. "It sounds sad. I don't want to go anywhere sad."

He grasped the flight control lever but hesitated on pulling it down. He didn't want to take her somewhere she didn't want to go, but it didn't mean he was done with talking her into going.

"It's not sad. It actually contains the most serene solar systems ever to evolve. Experts seem to think that the matter that created this galaxy was already so old that evolutionary ability of life on all its planets slowed to a crawl. None of the habitable planets in this galaxy has ever produced any mammals larger or fiercer than a chicken."

Clara still wasn't convinced yet. "Now it sounds sad and boring."

"Did I mention that one of the planets there is called Flora Magnus? And that it contains nearly two million species of flowers, some with blooms as large as the Tardis console."

She moved in closer to where he stood. "Flowers, you say?"

"Yes, flowers." He passed his hand in a flourished arc between them. As far as the eye can see in some places."

"Well?" Clara asked.

"Well, what?"

She struck a pose before replying to his questioning eyebrows, one hand on console and the other on her hip. "Well, are you gonna' stand there talking about it or are you gonna' take me there?"

He flashed her coy smile before slamming down the handle in reply.

x

 **Thirty minutes later**

With picnic basket in hand, they finally located a clearing on a small hill that offered them a perfect view to the multitude of colorful flowers filling what Clara would describe as the most idyllic valley she had ever seen. The Doctor spread the blanket out as she instructed and he then left her to it. It was her picnic after all and he wanted to study the nearest flowers. She called him back over once everything was ready.

He looked down at where she was sitting. "You didn't bring me a chair?" He asked with all seriousness.

"You're supposed to sit on the blanket."

He eyed the 5x8 plaid blanket like it was an obstacle course and he grumbled under his breath as he bent his legs to sit. Clara heard his knees pop and watched as he fell over onto his backside about halfway down. He grumbled louder this time.

"You say something?" She teased.

He picked up the paper plate his left hand had landed on. "Yes." He pointed at one of containers on the blanket. "Pass me some of that white lumpy stuff."

She snatched his plate. "That's potato salad."

He looked at it suspiciously when she'd handed it back. "Salad?" He turned the plate in his hand. "Where's the lettuce?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "It's not that kind of salad."

x

 **Fifteen minutes later**

"Doctor?"

The Doctor was currently too engrossed in jiggling the small strawberry and pineapple gelatin mould she'd deposited on his plate to even hear her.

She said it louder the second time. "Doctor!"

He stopped shaking his plate and looked over at her. "Yes?'

"Are you sure there's nothing dangerous on this planet?"

"I never said it wasn't dangerous. I said it was serene."

Clara jumped up off the blanket after his comment. "So, these insects…?" She pointed at a small mass of insects flying around their sandwich remnants. "…not dangerous?"

He looked over, squinting to get a better look, and then his eyes went wide. "Oh!"

"Oh! What do you mean by oh?" She kept backing further away from the blanket.

"Well, not so much dangerous as extremely annoying."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She stopped a few feet away.

"They're called Mad Flies."

Alarmed at the name, she moved further back. "Why?"

"Because if they bite you the itching will drive you absolutely mad."

"And you thought it a good idea to have a picnic here….Why?"

The Doctor could tell by the edge to her voice that she wasn't pleased. He knew is next comment would probably irritate her even further.

"Because I forgot about them." He began to hastily toss all the items closest to him back into the picnic basket. "You know what…we should probably go."

Clara pointed to her side of the blanket. "What about that plate?" Several hundred Mad Flies were now converging on the plate and its remnants.

"It's biodegradable, we can leave it." He began to slowly remove containers from around the plate, being careful not to aggravate the growing hoard of flies.

"What about the blanket?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the increased level of buzzing coming from so many flies.

"Leave it too." He was almost finished rounding up everything else. "You should go ahead…back to the Tardis. I'll be right behind you."

"You sure?" What was the worst flies could do, she wondered? Make him itch? But she never liked separating from the Doctor, even with this relatively benign threat.

"Yes! I'll be right behind you." He insisted

Clara set off at a brisk pace but still took the time to admire the flowers on her way back to the Tardis. It was when she'd stopped to sniff a particularly fragrant trumpet like flower that she heard him approaching. She couldn't help but hear him; he was yelling.

And waving at her. "Run, run!"

Ah hell! What had he done now? She knew better than to wait and find out. She took off running. With his long legs at full sprint, he caught up to her less than a minute later.

She noticed he was now in his shirtsleeves and that he was also missing the picnic basket.

"What happened?" She asked between breaths.

"Foot…caught in the blanket…," he panted, slowing up to pace himself beside her.

"Picnic basket?" She puffed out.

"Dropped it." He replied two strides later.

"Jacket?"

"Swung it." He weezed.

A few minutes later they made it to the small stream they'd cross not long after they left the Tardis. They were almost home. The Doctor managed to clear the stream in one great leap, but Clara was shorter and human and tired. She barely cleared the water and teetered on the opposite edge. The Doctor grabbed her arm before she fell backwards and pulled her into his chest.

"I got you."

She clung momentarily to his vest. "Thank you." She let go so that they could start running again.

The Doctor held her fast. "We're good, we're good! These particular flies don't like crossing over bodies of water. They act like boundaries to them."

She grabbed for his vest again until she caught her breath. "Good, that's good!" She let go once she had her legs under her again.

"Not much further now," he said. "Are you going to make it?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I've never fallen behind before. Not gonna' start now."

He smiled back and grabbed hold of her hand. "Good, lets….OW!" He let go of her hand and Clara watched as he began jumping around grabbing at his left pant leg, pulling frantically at the fabric around his thigh. "No! No, no no no no no!"

"Doctor? What's wrong?"

He didn't respond to her question. He was too busy slapping at his thigh.

"Can I help?"

The slapping stopped. "No. I don't think so," he replied, shoving a hand down the front of his pants, (Obviously not! Clara thought) and he began fishing around down his pant leg.

"Gotcha!" He pulled out his hand and with it came the remnants of a Mad Fly.

"How did it get into your pants?"

He examined the remnants pinned between his thumb and forefinger. "These are burrowing flies. They live in colonies like bees…except underground."

"Yes, but how did it get into your pants?"

He flicked away the squished carcass and wiped his hand on his vest. "What do you mean?"

Clara snickered. "Have you seen how tight your pants are?"

He smirked at her comment. "Let's get to the Tardis. I need to put something on the bite before it starts itching."

x

 **Five minutes later**

"Halt! Hands in the air!"

Two rather menacing men dressed in uniforms emerged from behind the Tardis brandishing phase rifles at them.

They quickly complied, but it didn't keep Clara from talking. "Doctor, I thought you said there was nothing larger than a chicken on this planet."

"Quiet!" One of the men yelled at her.

"Not supposed to be." The Doctor replied.

"Both of you!" The man added as he approached them.

"Whatever you say…," the Doctor leaned forward to get a better look at the insignia on the man's uniform, "…officer."

Clara turned her head towards the Doctor. "Officer?"

"Yes, 53rd century frontier security, by the looks…Ooof!" A rifle butt to his gut kept the Doctor from finishing what he was saying.

"Hey! There's no need for that!" Clara complained.

"Shut it! We don't talk to smugglers. Save your breath for the district prosecutor."

x

 **One hour later**

"Seriously?" Clara complained. "It's the 53rd century and this is the best you can do?"

The officers pushed them past a heavy iron door and into a tiny…Clara wouldn't even call it a room…it was more of a tiny cave carved into the side of a rocky outcropping.

The same man who'd done all the talking earlier replied to her remark. "Pursuant to article 9, clause seventy five of the Charter of Protection: no buildings are permitted on any of the globally protected planets of the Omega Galaxy."

"That's impressive." The Doctor said, looking around the dimly lit cave. Clara snorted derisively and shook her head.

He thought he should clarify. "I meant the Charter Clara, not the cell…Hey!" 'The Quiet one', that's what the Doctor called the man who never spoke. The Quiet One shoved him from behind and farther into the dimly lit cell till he stood before a thick, chest high wooden post set into the floor. There was heavy chain attached at the top of the post and a set of manacles hanging at the ends.

The Doctor turned his head to look at the Quiet One. "What is it with your types? Always with the chains and handcuffs."

Staying true to his name, the man shoved the Doctor to the ground and lashed him securely to the post, all without saying a word. Clara was next. When they were done both men turned to leave the room.

The Doctor called out to their retreating backs. "I thought we were going to be seeing the district prosecutor?"

The 'Talkey One' (yes, that's what he called him) turned around. "Prosecutor won't be back to this planet until tomorrow."

Both men left and the iron door clanged securely shut behind them throwing the room into near darkness. Once their eyes adjusted, they could just make out one another's silhouette.

"So how long you think?" Clara asked.

It was a game they played. The doctor would estimate how long it would take him to escape and Clara would press the stopwatch button on her watch. He was usually accurate within two minutes, give or take. "Sorry. I can't give you one this time."

"Aww, why not?"

"In order to sit down on that blanket of yours I had to remove the sonic from my back pocket."

"Oh." She knew what he was going to say next.

"It's in my jacket."

Clara sighed loud enough for it to echo in the small room. "So, that means we're stuck here till tomorrow then."

"Yes. It looks that way."

"Arrgh!"

"What are you complaining about? You weren't bit by a Mad fly!"

"Well, it doesn't seem to be bothering you all that much."

"That's because I've been suppressing the urge to itch for the past hour."

"How's that been working for you?"

"It's getting worse."

"So just scratch it already."

"Believe me, I would if I could. It bit be on the back of my thigh…," he jangled his chains for effect, "…I can't reach it."

"Oh." She felt sorry for his predicament. "Anything I can do?"

He couldn't believe she'd said that. "You're chained to a post too."

She moved her arms, rattling her chains. "Sorry."

"That's alright. It won't bother me too much. I'll just put myself into a meditative state. Won't feel a thing."

x

 **Another hour later**

"Wasn't it you who said, "It won't bother me. I'll just put myself into a meditative state?"

He didn't reply; he was too busy squirming. She began laughing at his predicament. "Yes, this may be funny to you." He growled. "But it's your fault!"

Her voice squeaked in indignation. "How is it my fault?"

The Doctor let out a rhetorical laugh. "Ha! You're the one who said, "Let's go somewhere nice and have a picnic."

Clara rattled her own chains. "Yeah, about that nice part."

"Oh, do shut up!" He snapped back as he tried controlling himself to a restless fidget. It didn't last for long.

x

 **Ten minutes later**

"Oh for goodness sake!" Clara had had enough of the rattling and his squirming. "Scoot yourself round and face me." He scooted and she did the same.

Facing one another put their arms in a slightly awkward but not painful position. They now sat opposite one another, knees up with their shoes touching. "Now what?" He asked.

"Just a minute," she replied and he felt her feet bump against his. "There!" Something dropped onto his foot.

"What was that?"

"My shoe."

"Why did you take off your…Oooh!"

"Sorry! She must have hit something. "Where's it itch?"

"You don't need to…"

"Where?" She demanded, cutting him off.

"Back of my left leg."

She moved her foot.

"No…my left your right," he clarified when her foot found the wrong leg.

"Sorry." She moved her foot slowly to her right till she made contact with his other leg, and then felt her way up his calf and past his knee, stopping when she reached mid thigh.

"Is it higher or lower?"

He couldn't believe he was letting her do this, but the itch had become unbearable. "Lower." He couldn't stop his leg from twitching as her toes traced a path down the back of his leg.

Clara had to stop herself from laughing. If she did, he'd probably scoot away from her. She could tell when she'd hit the spot by the sound he made. It sounded almost…sexy?"

"Oh! Oh! Oh, yes. That's it…that's it." He let out a blissful sigh and Clara wished she could have seen his face.

x

 **Thirty minutes later**

Clara pressed the backlight dial on her watch and was shocked to discover the time. A half hour? It felt like she'd been scratching his leg for hours! Her toes were starting to cramp. She was going to have to alternate her feet if she was going to be any help in the long run. She pulled her foot away to help slip off her other shoe and she got a quick response from the Doctor.

"Why'd you stop? You're not stopping? Tell me you're not stopping!" His voice sounded almost desperate and he started fidgeting again.

"Hang on! I just need to swap my feet." She caught her other shoe with her big toe and pushed it off.

"Ow!" He'd accidentally kicked her shin with his squirming.

"Hurry, hurry!" He was all he said by way of apology. He must be desperate, she thought as she slid her left foot back to the spot.

"Ahhhh! Thank you! Ooohh! Yesss!" He soon quieted as the initial itching sensation dulled down and she set her toes into a rhythm. Up down, up down, up down.

With the Doctor quieted down and hours of unending monotony ahead of her, Clara did what she always did in a captive situation. She began devising next weeks lesson plan in her head. She'd learned a long time ago she could kill a good three or four hours that way.

x

 **Several hours (and foot swaps) later**

Clara was deep in thought, trying to decide if her class should read Charles Dickens' epic, A Tale of Two Cities, or his more confined novel, Great Expectations. A Tale of Two Cities was her favorite, but she wasn't sure if her kids would understand all the symbolism. She was so deep in thought she didn't realize just how distracted she'd become until an odd noise began filtering its way into her brain. She stopped thinking about Dickens and began listening, hoping to catch the obtrusive sound.

It soon started up again, and it sounded like...it sounded like…a moan? It had to be the Doctor. Why was he moaning…like that! It was then that she noticed he was pressing his leg against her foot, and it then took her another minute to realize…it wasn't his leg! Sometime during her debate over Dickens' novels, her foot had moved, and judging by where her heel was resting on the ground…she realized she was now rubbing her toes up and down his balls!

Oh shit! Was the first thing that popped into her mind, and then as she kept on rubbing she realized he'd never said anything to make her stop. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it! She debated whether she should stop now that she knew what she was doing, but the noises he kept on making were causing her libido to take over on the decision making process. She had always wondered about that side of him, especially in his present incarnation. Sure, she'd thought about it…about them, sharing something more, but in all their time spent together, he never showed the slightest interest. Sometimes she thought he might be asexual or perhaps even a eunuch. But now, she was more than certain of one thing. He was all male! And now that she'd crossed the proverbial "line", Clara wondered just how far she could take this. Slowly, she slid her foot up until her toes connected with something firmer.

The first time Clara's foot moved the Doctor had barley noticed. The deep pleasurable sensation of his nerve endings firing felt the same and when she was scratching his damnable itch. It was only when he noticed that his respirations were increasing and his body temperature was beginning to rise that he knew something was amiss. When he finally did realized what was happening he hesitated, not knowing what to say. And when her foot traveled up to his hardening member now straining beneath the fabric of his pants, his hips involuntarily bucked into the pressure, which meant any chance either of them had of stopping… had just passed.

The sun was setting on Flora Magnus and what little light that had made its way through the tiny window of their cell door was gone. The room was now pitch black and Clara ran her foot slowly from base to tip in a blind effort to gauge his size. She let out an audible gasp when she realized his manhood was longer than her foot. He responded to the sound and to the new sensation by pressing himself against her foot again. Clara realized his movement wasn't just a biological reaction this time, he was obviously granting her permission to continue. So she kept on going, slowly at first, she slid her foot up and down, listening intently as his breathing steadily increased. Just thinking about what she was doing to him was beginning to excite her as well and soon her breathing was a match to his own.

She quickly discovered 'going slow' wasn't what he wanted, as he was now vigorously dry humping her foot. Well he may have been frustrated with her lack of speed, but she was frustrated with the situation altogether. Of all the scenarios in which she'd imagined them becoming intimate…this was not one of them. This was more like something two fumbling teenage virgins would do their first time, only this was worse as far as she was concerned. It was a foot job as opposed to a hand job, and she couldn't see a damn thing! It wasn't fair! But it wasn't going to stop her either. She was willing to take what she could get or rather give what she could take …or rather, put her best foot forward. And by 'best foot forward', it meant both of hers!

The addition of her other foot to the task elicited another deep groan from the Doctor, and a sigh of sexual frustration from herself. He could at least give her some tit-for–tat here, she thought as her left foot increased its speed and the toes of her right foot began fondling his balls.

"Ahhhh…" He hissed quietly in a obvious attempt to restrain himself from such base outbursts. Clara had other ideas as she worked her magic with her feet and her toes. She might not be able to see it, but she was damn well sure going hear it. She not only heard it, she felt it as he began thrusting his hips in an opposite rhythm to the one she had set.

"Uuhh…oooh….uuhh…uuhh…oh yes!" The Doctor quickly gave up all pretense of trying to hide his excitement, and as his pace increased and so did hers. She could tell he was getting close as the sounds he made became more frequent; and in response the aching spot between her legs became wetter and wetter. She tugged at her chains in frustration. It's not that she didn't enjoy pleasing him but, damn! Where was the tit for her tat? Clara knew deep down that when this encounter started it would be one sided, but still…a girl could wish!

The Doctor bit his lip in an effort to stop the involuntary sounds that kept slipping past his lips. Stupid itch! Stupid itch! He should have better control over himself; after all he'd gone nearly a thousand years without it, which in hindsight…is probably what made his present situation unstoppable. But she was his companion, his carer! A very, very caring companion, by the feel of it. He noticed he was moaning again, his body was betraying his thoughts. Oh, who was he kidding! There were times when they came running back into the Tardis after a harrowing adventure and the looks she'd give him sometimes…it made him want to bend her over the console and…

"Oh god…oh god…oh god…!" Just the thought of it brought him to the edge.

Clara resigned herself to vicariously enjoying his excitement, and she didn't know what was more arousing, hearing the Time Lord repeatedly calling out to god, or the feel of him throbbing beneath her feet. It was probably both. And when he came, calling out her name...she felt more than satisfied. Sliding her feet off his crotch, she listened quietly as his breathing leveled out. And as she sat there, she wondered who might be the first to speak. No sooner did she have the thought, she heard him say her name again. Only this time, it was as a question.

"Clara?"

What was he going to say to her? Was he going to thank her? Promise her more once they'd escaped? Maybe even say the "L" word? "Yes?" She listened expectantly for his reply.

"That was an incredibly wonderful distraction, but…"

Oh god! There it was, the embarrassingly dreadful "but". But what, she wondered in less than the time it took for him to reply. But, "you shouldn't have done that"…but, "I'm too old for you…but, "I only like you as a friend?" Oh god! What was it gonna' to be?

"….my leg still itches."

"Oh for cryng out loud!"

Months later they still hadn't spoken about what happened in the cell on Flora Magnus. But there were times, when they came running back into the Tardis after a harrowing adventure, and judging by the looks that he gave her, Clara would swear he wanted to bend her over the Tardis console and….


End file.
